Contemplative Poem Sixteen

O true Lamb,
O true kindness to my outstretched hand,
O true follower,
O one who lays its head beneath my crook,
Be my snowy flock!

O only copacetic,
The sound of your hooves is familiar,
(as we travel up to Oliver),
My source of sharp sheep’s cheese!

O I have called you lamb,
O I have led you,
You can lie down!

O I will fight for you,
O You are on the pleasant plane,
O I have slept in dew,
O You are next to heather’s flame,
O do not rest except in me,
My lovely lamb!

No comments: